In Retrospect
by Carmine Rose
Summary: In retrospect, my decision to seek inclusion to the Brotherhood of Steel was a good one, for myself and my daughter's sake - whatever happened afterward.
1. Failure

**Right, new project. This will most likely be the only chapter from James' perspective. Enjoy, and tell me what you think by dropping me a review and alerting; it'd really help with both writing technique and motivation. And please cut me some slack with Americanisms; I've been trying my hardest to cut 'u's out of words, etc.**

**Disclaimer for entire story: Fallout does not belong to me, and this is not written for profit.**

**x-x-x**

The Project was all I had now, Madison had said. No, I replied. _Harriet_ was all I had. Her remark made me realise this - I left the Memorial with my daughter that same day, left my team under Brotherhood protection to continue Purity without me. I enlisted the aid of my old friend Cross to safeguard my passage across the Wasteland, to corroborate rumours of an unspoiled Vault to the west, which I might be able to secure access to.

Surprisingly, the mutant camp a few miles from the Memorial was empty but for a lone Wastelander tethered to an iron spike, who Cross promptly freed and gave directions to Rivet City. Besides a few packs of wild dogs, the only issue we came across was a pocket of Jetted-up Raiders milling around outside the old Super-Duper Mart at about noon.

As we knelt under a nearby bridge, I suggested that we try to move around them - I mean, I held a month-old infant in my arms, violence hardly seemed appropriate. Cross seemed like to agree, being the pacifist she professed to be - but Harriet chose that precise moment to stir in my arms and _scream_.

"What the fuck?" Came an uneducated voice, as heavy footfalls crunched across age-old gravel.

"I bet it's one'a them stupid baby bombs." A rough female yell responded from further away towards the store. "Go see, Jesse!"

"Fuck you!" The first voice shouted back. "You go, Med." A savage grunt came in reply.

Footsteps grew closer, clearing the parking lot gravel and hitting the blackened tarmac of the destroyed road.

Cross looked at me as I desperately tried to quiet my squalling child. I bounced her in my arms and shushed her frantically, but she only yelled louder.

The Star Paladin pulled the pneumatic hammer from her back and donned the power helmet slung over her shoulder, becoming a metal beast. The footsteps were descending the slope from the road to where we knelt now. She twisted the super sledge in her metal hands.

A dirt-streaked face peered round the cracked concrete of the bridge support columns. He had one ear and an eyepatch over his left eye, and his incredibly bloodshot right eye screamed of Jet abuse. His filthy hair was slicked up, with God knows what, into a crude spiked crest.

He grinned maliciously, showing a mouthful of brown teeth bared in bloodlust. The stump of what was once a tongue wiggled nauseatingly. A frenzied bark of garbled laughter fell from his mouth, and he reached for his hip, for the rusted revolver stuck through a tattered belt bearing shriveled human hands.

I twisted away from him, sheltering Harriet's tiny form with my own mass. Cross leapt forward from her kneeling position, incredibly quickly for one wearing full T-45d armor. The pistons within the super sledge hissed as she slammed it into the side of his head.

The Raider's skull _shattered_, spraying the concrete and dirt with dark blood, pinkish brain matter and shards of bone. She stepped over the corpse, tearing up the slope and out of sight. The clanging reports of bullets on steel resounded from over the verge.

I pulled my daughter, still crying, close to my shoulder with one arm as I pulled a .32 revolver from the inside pocket of my dirty lab coat. Falling backwards onto my buttocks, I pressed my back against the cool concrete of the bridge and pulled back the hammer of the revolver, holding my daughter to my chest.

Savage cries of excitement echoed in the background alongside the snapping reports of poorly-maintained small arms, before the dull thump of the super sledge extinguished all. Silence fell upon us, Deathclaw-swift, but I stayed still regardless, still holding my pistol before me. Slow and heavy steel footfalls grew louder before stopping above, on the bridge.

"James. It is safe."

Thankful that no Raiders had found us, I scrambled to my feet and stepped out into the sun. Besides the obvious danger to myself and Harriet, the taking of a life, however depraved that life might be, didn't exactly complement my hippocratic oath.

Cross had removed her helmet; dark eyes framed by dark skin stared concernedly at me and my burden.

"Are you both well?"

I looked down at Harriet; her cries had quieted and she had lapsed back into sleep, those brilliant blue eyes of Catherine's hidden away. I glanced up and fixed my eyes on Cross as they prickled hotly and uncomfortably, in an attempt to distract myself from fresh and painful memories. My reassuring smile felt weak across my face, but I hoped it sufficed.

"I think so, Cross."

x-x-x

Happy to be leaving the ramshackle and frankly quite scruffy town behind, I passed the megaton bomb on my way towards the gate. A crowd of dirty settlers stood in the water under the bomb, holding hands in a circle around it as a youngish man in rags 'beseeched the Great One to wash away Megaton's suffering in his Glow'. Despite my single-mindedness right now, I watched for a moment, fighting not to laugh.

A shout from above caught my attention. "Oi, egghead!"

I turned and looked up towards the voice, shielding my eyes from the morning sun. Moriarty was leaning over the railing fronting his 'saloon'. I'd gotten some useful information from him about the incidents of people crawling out of Vault 101 every few years, and I was grateful; that didn't change the fact that the man was the worst kind of Wasteland scum.

"Remember, when them Vaulties send ye on yer way, Moriarty's yer best bet! Ye mus' know the Brass Lantern's fer junkies an' other scum besides!" At the outside counter of said establishment, a red-haired girl of about ten stood, wearing a shapeless Red Racer jumpsuit pinned clumsily into a child's fit. She scowled darkly up at the man.

"I'll, ah, keep it in mind." I replied. Turning to climb the slope to the exit, my self-doubt resurfaced at Moriarty's words. If I failed to secure entrance to the Vault, well, I'd fail Catherine. We'd sworn to each other to protect our child if one of us was to die. And my oath was, of course, in full effect by this point.

Cross stood beside the gate, the white bundle that was my daughter gathered up in her arms. She'd volunteered to handle Harriet's near-constant screams while I slept, as she no longer needed to.

"You're prepared?"

I was; well, as prepared as I ever could be. I merely nodded and pulled the release for the gate.

x-x-x

_"Well, Mr Clarke. Tell me why should I grant you access to my Vault."_

_"I grew up in a Vault back West, Mr Almodovar, Vault 21. I know Vault medicine inside-out."_ My reply was met by the crushing silence of the outer Vault cavern, before a reply laced with static came back through my Pip-Boy.

_"Of course, Mr Clarke. You'll forgive me, however, if I don't take you at your word."_

I frowned tiredly. The many rumors of a still-inhabited vault near Megaton had brought me here, but nobody ever spoke of the standoffish nature of its Overseer.

Fiddling with my Pip-Boy, I quickly sent an old intra-Vault message from the recesses of the computer's memory along the connection. There was more silence before he spoke.

_"This seems… legitimate. However, you presume that our community is in fact in need of a doctor."_

My stomach jolted as I digested his reply. I had supposed that medical training would be a sure-fire negotiating position, but the Overseer's paranoia was obviously trampling that idea.

_"You can never have too much medical experience."_ A sardonic laugh came across the conference connection.

_"Your concern is touching, Mr Clarke, but I can assure you our medical needs are well-taken care of through an Auto-Doc and our own Mr Palmer. I won't lead you on any longer. While I… I sympathise with your plight, I must deny you entry to Vault 101."_

He paused briefly, ignoring my helpless spluttering, then continued. _"Outsider influences would encourage others to push for opening of the cog-door, and I cannot expose them to the dangers of the Wasteland. You understand, of course. Good day, Mr Clarke."_ The connection closed abruptly, and Vault-Boy's face slid back into focus on the screen, before blurring behind my angry tears.

x-x-x

Stepping under the heavy red door and into the Citadel, I flexed my hand nervously under its makeshift cast; besides snapping a few bones, hitting the cog-door control console had hardly helped my situation. I looked down at my daughter, all I had left, and smiled, despite my dejection.

After failing to secure my daughter's safety in the Vault, I'd assessed my options. Purity was out. I couldn't go back there, and the science simply didn't _work_; there was nothing for me or Harriet there. My next hope was the Brotherhood; Rothchild and Lyons had offered me inclusion into the Scribes at least five times between them. But that was years ago, they might not be in such need now, and besides, Harriet might be a complication.

"James?" I jumped, startled by the call. "Elder Lyons requests you in his Solar." Cross stared levelly, waiting for my response.

"Yes, sure. Lead the way." Cross turned and marched briskly across the courtyard, pushing open a door labelled 'A-Ring'. I followed, jogging to the door to keep up. The corridors were mostly empty, but staring Knights stood either side of most doorways, watching me steadily as I passed.

We passed through a door to 'B-Ring', and Cross stopped in front of 'The Solar', opening the door and turning to me with a smile. "The Elder awaits, James."

I nodded, returning her smile as I stepped through the doorway.

I entered that room as a scared father and a failed scientist. I left as Head Scribe of the Order of the Quill. And my daughter, well, Lyons promised her a place in the Squires. I'd found us a home. I'd kept my oath to Catherine.


	2. Drills

"Get _up_!"

I shoved away the hand shaking my shoulder and sat up in bed, glaring at its owner. "Was there any need?"

Carla Durga smirked in reply. "We've got Selection today, _Hattie_."

She ducked the thin pillow I sent flying at her as I hauled myself out of bed. "Don't _call_ me that!" I couldn't help but grin as I spoke, but my smile faded when Carla pointed to the clock above the door.

I hurriedly pulled on my Squire's uniform and we sprinted out of the girls' barracks and towards the canteen. The Initiates who handed out food as one of their duties were well-known for being tetchy about latecomers, and we might not eat if we didn't hurry.

A Scribe leapt out of our way, the Power Helmets stacked in her arms swaying precariously as she shouted peevishly after us; I quickly yelled an apology over my shoulder, rolling my eyes. Dad would no doubt give me an earbashing about running in the halls at some point.

We barrelled into the huge dining room and grabbed the boxes of century-old Sugar Bombs the Initiate by the doorway handed to us, sitting at the nearest table. Looking around, the canteen was packed, mainly with other anxious Squires our age who'd officially finished tutoring and were awaiting Selection.

"So," Carla started, through a mouthful, "Who do you want to join?"

I exhaled, staring into the bottom of my box of cereal. Nearly a week of sleepless nights had led up to this morning; I couldn't be selected for _anywhere_ without letting _someone_ down. I knew Carla would be an Initiate, and while she'd never say it, I also knew she wanted me to join her so we could become Knighted together. 'Show the Mutants who was boss', in her own words.

And I was sure that Dad, who I knew better than anyone, _really_ didn't want me to put myself in danger like that - he got antsy whenever he saw Sarah testing my laser-pistol shooting, for Steel's sake. He'd even said more than once that I'd do my mother proud in his Order of the Quill.

Glancing back up at her, I was completely lost. I rubbed at my eyes. "I- I don't know. I'm _scared_, Carla."

She smiled and gripped my arm reassuringly. "Don't worry, Harriet, you'll fit wherever you go."

Well, as sensitive as her sentiment was, she'd missed my issue almost entirely. Without arrogance, I _knew_ I'd do well anywhere; Sarah told me all the time that by my shooting accuracy, I'd make Paladin in a year after Knighthood, at the most. And Scribe Jameson, by Dad's own account, was always very satisfied with my performance in tutoring and had pegged me as a valuable Scribe.

Before I could reply, a Power-Armoured Knight walked through the doorway, heavy metal footsteps resounding across the canteen. A distorted female voice announced that "all Squires are required in the bailey by Head Scribes Bowditch, Clarke and Peabody, and Paladins Lyons and Gunny."

It was _cold_ out in the bailey, and the stares of our selectors and the crowd of Brothers around us didn't make me feel more comfortable. Dad stood between the other Head Scribes, and winked at me when I caught his eye.

Across from them stood Sarah and Paladin Gunny in their Armour, surveying our group curiously. Gunny was looking even more dangerous than usual, mouth twisted disdainfully as his gaze raked across each of us. We all huddled into a small crowd, as much to try and avoid the stares as the cold.

Sarah stepped forward, sweeping her long hair back as she spoke. "Squires. You've finished tutoring, you are ready to be trained to assist in the Brotherhood's struggle to protect the technology of the old world. Through repairing, recording and inventing as a Scribe of an Order, or earning your holotags and Armor as a sworn Knight." At this, Sarah rolled her eyes at me with a grin; I couldn't help but return it.

"Each of you has been assigned according to your assessed capabilities – wait for your name and move accordingly."

She stepped back and Gunny took her place with a clipboard in his hand.

"Artemis!" Christopher Artemis perked up nervously. "Knights!" He near-ran to stand behind Sarah, looking incredibly relieved; he told anyone who'd listen that his family had proudly worn 'Armor since the Brotherhood first began'. As if anyone cared.

"Bartlett, Order of the Quill!"

"Burrell, Order of the Sword!"

It continued, and, being a Clarke, I was up soon enough. "Clarke!" I wiped my sweaty palms down my long jacket, eyes darting quickly up from the floor.

"Knights!" Swallowing nervously, I strode forward to my place. Looking up at Dad and expecting a disappointed frown, his proud expression and thumbs-up were the best I could have hoped for.

"Durga, Knights!" I snapped out of my thoughts to pull Carla into a hug; her elated laugh brought me back to reality and I returned it, equally happy.

I was an Initiate now. My charge was stemming the flow of Super Mutants in DC, and combing the Wasteland for technology - like it or not.

0-0-0

The sun was unbearable. It was about midday, and the position of the bailey hardly helped shield it from the heat. I felt quite sick to begin with, but Gunny would have marched into the barracks and dragged me by my hair through the A-Wing if I'd stayed in bed. Hiding illness seemed like the best option at the time. If I skipped training and drills for a medical, I'd never hear the end of it; it was something of an unwritten rule among the Initiates that taking a sick day was equivalent to dropping your weapons and running from a battlefield.

While I couldn't be sure, I was on what might have been the tenth of my fourteen laps of running. I felt like I might die right here, but I daren't slow down; the last time I'd started flagging, Gunny fired his pistol at my feet until I caught up to the others.

Carla was handling it much better. Seeing me still at the back of the group, she slowed down slightly to draw level with me. "You okay?" She muttered, as she glanced over at where Gunny stood glaring at us.

My ragged breathing choking off any response, I nodded quickly. The motion made me wince as I felt a splitting headache starting up.

She frowned. "You sure? You don't look great, maybe you can go rest and Gunny'll give you a do-over-"

"Durga, Clarke, _can it_!"

Carla sighed and took off again, leaving me to force myself onwards step by step. The run didn't get better. My headache was getting worse, and my stomach felt goddamn awful-

Next thing, I was hands and knees on the cracked pavement, heaving my guts out. I could feel hot tears on my cheeks as I retched again, and the piercing taste of it was _everywhere_. Trying to force myself to my feet proved impossible; my vision doubled, and I fell back sideways.

Gunny was on me almost immediately. He grabbed me by my clumsy plait and pulled my head back, so I was facing him.

"Clarke, get the fuck up and keep going!" He shouted; he either didn't realise I wasn't at all well, or simply didn't _care_.

I groaned, too weak to drag myself upright, and _begged_ him to take me to the medical wing. I was _done_ with trying to appear tough, I felt dreadful and I wanted Dad to fix it.

"Ohmygod Harriet, what happened?" Carla's face slid into focus above me, chewing at her lip in her typical nervous expression.

"Durga, get going-"

She angrily cut him off, and even now, I couldn't help but smile. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you? She's really sick, and her dad's gonna flip about this!"

There was a pause, as if the Paladin was actually considering her words; strange in that he hadn't already torn her head off. As he spoke, his voice dripped dangerous venom. "Take her then. I've got more important shit to do."

Carla half-dragged me across the bailey, past the mocking cheers of the other Initiates and into the B-Ring. "I told you. I _said_ not to keep going."

I couldn't even argue – she was always the sensible mature one, even though _I_ was thirteen, almost a year older than her. I just murmured agreement as I clung to her for walking support.

"You know the only reason Gunny didn't tear my throat out is I mentioned your dad. And now he's gonna hate me as much as he hates both of you, never mind the punishments I'll get from Paladin Lyons."

A muttered apology escaped me, which made Carla laugh. "It's fine. Y'know, I'm almost glad I don't have parents, it must really complicate things."

We reached the medical bay and she shouldered the door open, pulling me through the rows of old, slightly stained beds and into the small office at the back.

Dad jumped in his seat as the door opened, turning from his computer terminal to scrutinise me carefully. Carla sat me in the seat on the other side of his desk, stepped back and saluted Dad. "Scribe Clarke. Harriet was taken ill in the yard, so I brought her here."

He smiled gratefully. "Of course you did. Very good of you, Carla, thank you." He got up, adjusted his red robes and moved around the desk to take a seat next to me. "And I'll make sure the Paladin doesn't hand you a month of cleaning duty, eh?" His laugh always cheered me up.

Carla stared, obviously taken aback. "Uh, thank you sir. I'll just…" she gestured awkwardly to the door. I knew her better than anyone did, I _knew_ why she felt so uncomfortable.

As an orphan, she'd never been used to accepting help or favourable from anyone, much less adults, and dickheads like Gunny just made her close up even more. Dad tried his best with her, but despite her usual confidence around just me, she shied away from any closer involvement within our family.

Dad nodded understandingly, and she quickly left the room. He turned to me. "Now, what happened to you? Pushing yourself too hard again?"

Uncomfortably, I looked down at my scuffed boots.

"I thought so. Honey, what you need to understand is that there's no shame in being realistic about your limits." His expression grew stern. "If you didn't feel well enough for drills, you should have come to see me. I've told you about this before."

Without much more talking, he handed me a Stabiliser tablet and made me down it there and then, before dismissing me, _formally_. I left the medical bay dutifully, feeling much steadier but even less happy than when I'd entered; letting Dad down was one of the worst feelings ever, one of those ones that actually _hurt_.

I'd like to say that his words made me change my approach, but they really didn't. Desperate to prove my worth within the Brotherhood, I continued to push myself that much more, more than any of the others. That got me into quite a bit of trouble, and _that_ was how I met Henry Casdin.


End file.
